


Now I lay me down to sleep

by Goldpeaches



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Euthanasia, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2528006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldpeaches/pseuds/Goldpeaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based  on this prompt: At some point during the fighting and the adventuring Bifur falls awkwardly or gets hit in the exact wrong spot. Whatever happens, it drives the axe deeper into his head and leaves him completely unable to take care of himself. […] <a href="http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/8973.html?thread=19669773#t19669773">View the full prompt here.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Now I lay me down to sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Middleland
> 
> Middleland is a livejournal landcom for Tolkien Fans and Round 2 just started, so there is really no excuse not to join! [Read the contract here](http://middleland.livejournal.com/331.html).  
> And then pick a team and [sign up here](http://middleland.livejournal.com/707.html).

He thinks it has been two days, but he can’t be sure. He has been asleep a lot. Not really, though, passed out from the pain is a more accurate way to describe it.

When he opens his eyes during the day the sun is too bright and gives him a stabbing headache. He likes the dusk, when there is still enough light to see, but not so much that it blinds him.  
Bofur and Bombur seem to know, because they come to shake him awake gently when the sun is just setting. Bombur feeds him small portions of food and tea, while Bofur talks to him. Just random thoughts and observations that tumble out of his mouth, nothing that helps Bifur understand.

“What happened?” he tries to ask after three days, but his mouth won’t form the words. He can barely more his left arm enough to sign the question, but Bofur gets it anyway.

“You fell. We were attacked and you must have fallen awkwardly,” Bofur shakes his head as if he can’t understand it himself. “We think that the axe got pushed in further.”

Bifur closes his eyes again, lets that information sink in.

 

Sometimes when he is conscious, he keeps his eyes shut to listen to the conversations of his companions.

“It’s been seven days. We have to move on or we will never make it on time!” Glóin growls and Bifur can hear him sharpening his axe impatiently.

 

“Thorin is getting impatient. I’ve heard someone say that he is going to make us chose between killing him or leaving him behind.” That is Bofur’s voice, unusually low and worried. Even though Bifur can’t see it, he knows that Bombur is anxiously chewing something and shrugging his shoulders helplessly. 

He never wanted to be a burden.

 

“Us dwarves, we take care of each other, no exceptions!” Thorin’s bark is a stark contrast to Bilbo’s calm voice.

“Don’t force them to face the reality, yet. They know that the outlook of this quest isn’t exactly great. You can’t take their hope to die quickly and honourably away from them and remind them that they might survive the battle, but be forever changed.”

Thorin has no reply, so instead he walks over to Bifur and shakes him gently. He sits next to him and feeds him. There is utter care written all over Thorin’s face, as he brings the spoon up to Bifur’s mouth again and again and wipes up any spills patiently. When they are done, Thorin places his hand on Bifur’s cheek and looks at him earnestly.

“I have the utmost respect for you and I am deeply grateful for everything you have sacrificed for this quest,” he says.

Bifur lowers his eyes, deeply touched by the words. He thinks that now would be a good time to go.  
He would prefer to be killed by one of his cousins, but he can’t ask them to do it. It would be cruel to place this weight on them.

He can’t ask any of the three lads for the same reason. They kill to protect themselves and the group, but they are not ready to kill out of mercy.

He wonders if Óin would slip some poison into his tea or if Glóin would just chop his head off during the night and keeps them in his mind as potential accomplices. 

The first person to sit with him, however, is Dwalin and Bifur thinks that he might be able to do it. He knows how important it is to get to the mountain before Durin’s day and Dwalin also knows when a life stops being worth living.

Bifur nudges his leg to get Dwalin’s attention and signs the word “kill”.

“Kill?” Dwalin asks a little too loudly for Bifur’s taste. Several heads are turning in their direction, but it is too late to stop now. As long as his cousins don’t overhear them, everything is fine. “Who do you want to kill?”

Bifur taps his hand against his chest until he sees the realisation on Dwalin’s face.

“Kill you? No, that won’t be necessary.” He scratches the bald patch on his head nervously. “Get some sleep now and I don’t want to hear any of that nonsense tomorrow.” 

Bifur closes his eyes defeated and drifts off to sleep. He is awakened a little later, when something soft is placed on his face.

“I heard what you said to Dwalin.” The voice is muffled through the fabric pooling around his head, so he doesn’t recognize it immediately. “It’s going to be okay.”

A hand finds Bifur’s and holds it, while it becomes harder and harder to breathe.


End file.
